His Own Secret
by A.Boleyn
Summary: Pre-S2 ArMor. Morgana is not the only one in Camelot keeping a secret; Arthur is losing sleep from his own twisted dreams.


**A/N:** I wrote this last month and posted in on my LJ, now I am just trying to organize all of my fics here. (Sorry for excess alerts).

This fic was written with Series 1 in mind, pre-S2 and all the lack of ArMor interaction. It is Arthur's POV, a little self reflection on his part.

**Disclaimer:** Borrowed characters, not making money, no spoilers.

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**His Own Secret**

Morgana was not the only one in Camelot harboring a secret.

Her nightmares grew worse as time went on, but she was not alone in her struggle with her sub-conscious. Arthur was also losing sleep – taunted by dreams that left him drenched in sweat, his heart racing. But unlike Morgana, it was not terror that left him trembling and gasping for breath.

It was pleasure.

Yes, Arthur Pendragon also had a secret, a secret that came out in his dreams and challenged him like no sword-wielding opponent ever had: he was having highly inappropriate feelings for his father's ward. There had always been something between them – something unspoken, something unique, something indescribable. He had never been able to put his finger on it, and now his imagination was trying to sort it all out. By daylight, he could try to disregard those emotions, cast them off as a random occurrence and try to forget. But they refused to be ignored, for each night his dreams were plagued with moments of passion so powerful, it left him weak. It was more intense than what his heart, body, or mind knew how to handle.

These dreams were so vivid, so physically stimulating, that it always took him a few moments after awakening to be sure they weren't real. Had they really touched each other like that? Her scent, that odd spicy-sweet mixture of honeysuckle and perhaps patchouli, he swore it lingered on his skin. Oh, the things he had done to her – and the things he had begged her to do to _him_! What occurred between he and Morgana in his dreams was nothing like his real-life experiences between the sheets. Those casual flings left him physically sated but nothing else. Plenty of ladies knew the game of courtly love – casual flirting and poetry, teasing promises and tokens. He himself had played the game many a time and enjoyed the chase. Of course he'd had dreams about other women before, but what he was feeling for Morgana was different. It was far deeper, far sweeter. After all, he'd never had a dream about a woman where he actually held her in his arms after the act!

This Morgana in his dreams was so happy, so alive. She appeared to him like some goddess, with her petal-smooth skin, her wine-stained lips, her silky hair, all leaving an indelible impression upon him. Yet, beneath the sheets of his bed, Arthur escaped his puzzling reality, and in the dreams he felt and did things that electrified every inch of his being. This was in sharp contrast to the pensive woman she had grown into. Those full-fledged grins of hers, which made his heart seize up, were rare and fleeting, and it made his gut twist with longing. The pranks and games of their youth had passed, and now they were occupied with duty and worry of the future. Life could not be simple for royalty of Camelot; the carefree days were in the past.

Arthur wished he knew what monsters tormented her, so that he could eliminate them. And he would – at any cost. That realization in of itself frightened him. He had lived a fairly self-centered life, and to have someone else's happiness be _that_ important to him was unsettling. One gaze into those eyes, and he was powerless to deny her anything. If she asked him to wear a gown and dance in the courtyard, it scared him that he might actually do it. It frustrated him, in fact, and even pissed him off a little. The way she got under his skin made him want to bang his head against the wall until the thoughts were banished. It was ridiculous, really. Here he was - Prince Arthur, brave champion of countless tournaments - rendered completely helpless by a woman.

There was no one he could confide in about this – not Morgana, not Merlin, not Gaius, and _certainly not_ his father. He wasn't sure if what he was feeling was completely wrong or perfectly natural, but rather guessed it fell somewhere in between. His skills were on the battlefield, not in such silly matters as these. Morgana herself was rarely able to get a good night's rest, he knew – but at least she could get medicine from Gaius! Although, from the looks of her some mornings, the drugs weren't very effective. Surely this wasn't love. No, he had heard his father talk about love before. Arthur felt certain love was something proper and dignified, like the way his father had felt for his mother. Yes, love was neat and tidy; not these muddled, awkward feelings he had for Morgana.

Puzzling as they were, he enjoyed his dreams and the pleasure they brought him. Beneath the sheets of his bed, Arthur escaped reality, and in the dreams he experienced things with Morgana that electrified every inch of his being. His curiosity was piqued and now it was difficult to be around her and act normally, try as he might. It was worse on nights when she wore her hair up at dinner. The curve of her jawbone, her delicate neck, were all the more exposed for him to imagine tracing with his finger, following with his lips. He wondered if she teased him on purpose. Taunting him, daring him to forget everything and leap over the table, crushing his mouth to hers. Was his desire that transparent? He had always suspected that she could be quite the little minx in bed. He could tell just by the passion in her arguments, the dangerous fire in her eyes when she was angry. Growing up, he had watched her body mature with a mixture of wonder and lust – as any adolescent boy would do. Her beauty only grew as they aged, and he now craved her so much it was nearly painful.

Yet the physical feelings were not as strong as the emotions. Carrying the weight of so many expectations, he often felt as though Morgana was the only one he could truly be himself around. She was tough and complicated and gritty and challenged him to be a better man… to one day be a better king. She knew him better than anyone, including himself. They had a deep connection, and the explosive results came forth in his dreams. Now, he was living for the nights and that sweet revelry that existed only in his mind.

Year by year that bond between them had grown stronger, and deep down he knew they were headed for something. Passion, tragedy, undying love, heart break, betrayal? Perhaps all of those. _Something_ was going to happen, some day soon and the sense of it left Arthur tingling in anticipation.

Until then, he could dream.

_fin._


End file.
